


a wandering through

by vype



Category: Shin Megami Tensei IV Final, 真女神転生IV | Shin Megami Tensei IV
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vype/pseuds/vype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>You can’t say that there’s promise in Isabeau’s words, because there is no potential in what is past.</em>
</p><p>Spoilers for Final.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a wandering through

Satan splits.

He splits in a burst of light so bright that your eyes immediately begin to water, although that might just be because you swear that there’s an afterimage of two silhouettes in the light, smaller than either Merkabah or Lucifer, and you don’t think any reminder of them could ever _not_ hurt…

…But no, their forms are growing more distinct, more real; wait, _wait_ -

“Oh Jonathan!” Walter wails, the back of a translucent hand pressed to his brow, his entire form slowly cooling opaque. Belying his tone and words both, the grin on his face is brilliant—through your disbelief (“ _hope,” says a voice that may be your own, “it is hope”)_ arises the memory of a summer day in Kiccigiorgi Forest, sunbeams scattering through the leaves overhead. It reminds you of home, you think, and the realization aches just as much as it sets your heart at ease. “We’re not even married yet, you scoundrel! Now I’m ruined! What would my poor mother say? And how can I ever wed pure Isabeau now?”

Jonathan laughs and his eyes are amber, cat’s eye, gold; radiant, alight, _alive_. There’s a mischievous quirk to his lips as he teases, “Don’t act as though you didn’t enjoy it, Walter.”

“Alas, it appears that I’ll have to live the rest of my life as a poor spinster scorned by everyone in my village. You dastardly cur, have you no sense of honor?”

Isabeau finally cuts in, voice thick with both tears and laughter held back. “Walter, you idiot, stop being dramatic, I’ll marry you if you want-“

“Really?”

“Yes, really-“

“Even if Jonathan stole my virtue?”

“Shut up Walter, yes, even if Jonathan stole your virtue.” Jonathan tries to protest through his laughter but Isabeau speaks right over him. When was the last time she was pulled into your antics, the last time you’ve seen her smile like this?

“Even if-“

“Walter. Even if.” When Isabeau interjects this time, there’s something to her voice that cuts off any other quip that Walter could have made. It has–what was the word?– _gravitas_. Yes, gravitas, that was it.

(Burroughs helped you get by with the Gauntlet, and Mido was always more than happy to point out every button in the Cathedral, but it was Isabeau who taught you to read the panels of her manga, Jonathan who helped you and Walter decipher the posters and signs of Tokyo, pointing out each unfamiliar word with a teacher’s gentle patience.)

You can’t say that there’s promise in Isabeau’s words, because there is no potential in what is past.

(But perhaps it doesn’t have to be the past, you think, recalling your dreams from long ago–Jonathan in the sands and the rising sun, Walter lit by flames reflecting off jagged metal and glass, familiarity and furrowed brows and “Have we met before?”–and perhaps there will be a chance for- for-)

But leave those thoughts for now. There will be time for reminiscence later, for hypothesizing, for goodbyes (“ _and for the hellos that come after” and oh, doesn’t hope sound so much like your pulse pounding in your ears, feel like your chest contracting and throat tightening_ ). 

For now, there is something you must say.

You step forward and the pairs of eyes turn to you, bright and expectant and gleaming with the light of the stars.

“I missed you,” are the words that escape, but what you really mean is, “I love you,” and “I’ll miss you,” and “Even if,” all at once. 

You think they understand, when Walter drifts close to take your hand and Jonathan the other, when Isabeau smiles and smiles and smiles like all her dreams are coming true. 

You think they understand, when you remember the skies thrice reflected in the still waters of Lake Mikado, the endless firmament stretching out beyond the rooftop of Mikado Castle, a thin trickle of light reaching down towards Tokyo for the first time in a long, long while.

( _“hope,” sings your heart, and you don’t fight it back; you let it show in your face and your tears and your smile, “it is hope”_ )


End file.
